Hello, lovely readers! Another chapter, another chance for me to tell you how much I adore you all and how much it makes my friggin *life* to hear your thoughts and comments...makes me feel like I don't just have these imaginary people in my head :P I still want to buy you all an ice cream cone. Someday…

A/N: once more, everybody out of the pool and listen up. This chapter starts at the beginning of psycho/therapist and sorta runs parallel to canon- meaning shit is getting real and there's a definite warning for violent/disturbing content. Also, a warning for lack of elliot. He'll be back. Just not now. Title and quotes from the sound of silence by simon and garfunkel.

{hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again}

"Okay, let's go over this one more time. You said you remembered being in the bedroom of the Mayers' house and then once you regained consciousness, you were downstairs. And where was the defendant? Olivia? Should we take another break?"

«which way do you want me to do you?»

"Olivia?"

«you dirty little slut. stop pretending you don't love it»

"Olivia."

"God, sorry. I'm sorry. I'm okay. Just a little tired, it's fine."

Barba nods. "Why don't you go get some coffee or something and we'll start back up in ten minutes."

"I really think I've got it all down now," you decide. "How about we just call it a day?"

You bristle a little at his not quite amused expression. "Yeah, I'm afraid we're not to that point yet. We'll need a few more hours to make sure everything's solid."

"That's not necessary. I get that you're used to working with witnesses who don't have courtroom experience, but-"

"Olivia."

"I've been on the witness stand so-"

"Olivia. And how many times have you testified when you were the victim?"

"I am not-" You stop yourself, knowing that getting into an argument with Barba is a losing proposition for the both of you. It's better to appeal to his sense of empathy. "My therapist doesn't feel like it's healthy for me to keep talking about this over and over."

"And I'm not your therapist. Olivia...you know I'm the last person who wants to force you to relive it all. I've tried everything I can to keep this from going to trial, but now all I can do is make damn sure that we win this thing. And for that I need you to be flawless when it's your turn to be up there."

"If this is about what happened at the deposition- I fucked up. I'll give you that, I didn't realize how...anyway. I'm prepared now, I know what's coming. It won't happen again."

He's making that face, the one he made before he gave you the awful truth about what happened when Elliot went up to Bellevue. "We need to talk about something."

"Oh." You tilt your chin upward, eyebrows raised. "Well, let's hear it."

"We had talked before about requesting that the courtroom be closed while you testify."

"I thought that was a done deal."

"The judge approved." He adjusts his tie, looking like a man being led to the gallows. "My boss, however, does not. And I'm inclined to agree with him."

no. no. "Well, I'm inclined to disagree."

"I know you are. But ultimately, Cutter has the final say."

"No. He can't do that to me." nononogodplease.

Barba rests his hands on the edge of the podium and looks you squarely in the eyes. "Olivia. No one wants to put you through this, least of all me. But it's too risky. Just this week the appeals court overturned a life sentence for a child molester, because they ruled that having a closed courtroom while the ER nurse testified was a violation of his sixth amendment rights. We can't afford to take chances. Not after last time. Any grounds for appeal we give him, he will use."

"And I'm not a nurse. I'm the victim, as you so eloquently put it, I'm an NYPD sergeant in a high profile case and I would defy any judge to say that I didn't deserve that minimum amount of privacy." That sounded good, you thought, your voice never faltered even as your heart seemed like it was threatening to give out. All this time you've spent with your favorite ADA must be rubbing off on you.

"Constitutional law doesn't care what you deserve, Olivia, this isn't some sort of sympathy test. Believe me, we all have sympathy for you-"

"Anyone who had sympathy for me would understand why I can't do this. I can't get up in front of the press and half the department and whoever the hell else and be expected to say that. That he. I'm an NYPD-"

"We know," he says, arms crossed over his $2000 suit jacket. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you some sort of special treatment here."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard what I said. My job is to put the bastard away, and I can't risk-"

"You think I don't want the same thing? You think I don't lie awake every night wondering what'll happen if he walks? This is your job, but it's my life. I'm the one who...got hurt. I'm the one who has to live with everyone knowing that I couldn't..." He's glaring at you like you're a petulant child, and if that's what he thinks of you, then you might as well rise to the occasion. "You said you were looking out for me."

"That's exactly what I'm doing. I'm sorry you don't agree."

"What am I supposed to do? I can't...you want me to just tell the whole world? Brian doesn't even know that he, that I...he knows what the charges are, but..."

"But you haven't told him the details," Barba supplies, his voice softening. "Not yet, anyway."

"Not now, not ever. He doesn't need to know."

"Those are some pretty big secrets," he says cautiously, and you scowl in response.

"What happened to 'I'm not your therapist'?"

"I'm not trying to be. All I'm saying is- these things have a way of coming out sooner or later. If not now, then...it's your decision, but wouldn't it be better if he heard it from you?"

"Wow. You get kidnapped once, and suddenly everyone's a critic."

"It's not a criticism. I have no desire to get involved in your relationship- none," and you know that much is true, given his feelings toward Brian, "but unfortunately, this is the reality of the situation."

"The reality is, I have to work with these people, and every time I see them...how is anybody going to take me seriously if they look at me and all they're thinking about is how he fucked m- no. I'm done. You can tell Cutter that."

"You're 'done'. And that means...what, exactly?"

"I want the charges dropped down to kidnapping and attempted murder," you say in your firmest 'this is non-negotiable' voice that always works on Brian. "Go after him for those. Either of them will get him life."

"That's not how this works, Olivia, you know that."

"I know your office can make just about anything happen if it's what you want."

"And it's not what I want. We've both seen how he can work the system- we've got to throw everything we can at him and hope that something sticks. At this point, I would charge him with littering and spitting on the sidewalk if I could." You notice that his hair is slightly ruffled, and that really brings home the gravity of this whole situation, if he's slacking off in that department. "Besides, imagine the precedent that would set if we're dropping charges in a case of this magnitude. We can't look like we negotiate with serial rapists when the nation is watching. Can you imagine the hell that would rain down on us from the mayor's office?"

"So if this was any other case...what happened to 'you don't get special treatment'?"

"Sergeant," he says, and you sense a hint of derision in his voice that you do not like. At all.

"Counsellor." He's pacing back and forth and you half-expect smoke to come out of his ears like a cartoon. "I'm sorry if right now I have a hard time giving a fuck what the mayor wants. You spring this on me out of nowhere-"

"You knew from the beginning that this was a possibility."

"And you told me from the beginning that you would do whatever you could to protect me, I believe those were the words you used. You know. You know what happened, what I d-did...you know what people are going to think when they hear. Is that what you...no. Fuck this. We're done with this discussion."

"Olivia...I don't like this any more than you do, but I need you to trust me on this." He swipes the back of his hand across his forehead, which must mean you've really exhausted him and now he's going to- what? Get the vapors? "Fine. We'll call it a day. You should rest up for the hearing tomorrow...are you still planning on being there?"

"Yes."

"You're sure you want to do that? I know it's going to be upsetting, seeing him again, and there's really no reason that you have to be there."

You pick up your bag, swinging it angrily over your shoulder. "Save it. Don't start acting like you care all of a sudden."

He's saying something to himself about doctors being the worst patients, but you just bite your lip and hold your head high as you stride out of the room. "Olivia."

You stop walking but don't turn around. "What."

"Let me give you a ride home. Please."

"I'm fine." I can't hold it together much longer and I'll be goddamned if I fall apart in front of you again. "I just need some time alone right now."

"I could-"

"I said, I'm fine." You push open the door and storm through it, letting it swing shut loudly behind you, and you don't slow down your near-run until you're safely ensconced in the womens' restroom.

The first swig from the flask burns as it slides down your throat. The rest you don't feel at all.

{because a vision softly creeping
left its seeds while I was sleeping}

You had all the best intentions in the world of taking Barba's advice- going straight home and having a long heart to heart with Brian where you tell him everything you've been holding inside for the last seven months over a leisurely meal. Really. But then you pulled a gun on him, and your evening plans were drastically altered.

"It's okay, it's okay," he keeps repeating, but his voice sounds so far away even as you're clutching onto him with every ounce of strength you have left in your trembling hands. "Let's sit down for a minute, alright? There we go. That's better."

He basically shuffles you over to the couch because there's no way you could take those few steps on your own, not when your feet are too heavy for you to lift up and you still won't let go of him. You collapse against the cushions and start shaking your head frantically. "I'msorryIdidn'tmeantoI'msorry. I'm sorry..."

"No, sssh, it's alright. I'm fine." You can feel his heartbeat against your chest and it's pounding even faster than your own despite his calm facade. Of all the things you could possibly do to him..."It's my fault. I didn't think you'd be home so soon or I'd call to let you know I was back already. I shouldn't have scared you like that, babe, I'm sorry."

"I wouldn't really shoot you, I promise...I wouldn't," you say, and you don't know which of you needs the reassurance more. He tells you he knows, that he trusts you, and it just succeeds in making you even more upset because he shouldn't. You think of the time last June when you busted his lip while he tried to stop you from hitting your head against the wall during a nightmare. You think of the bruise left on Elliot's cheek after you lashed out at him mid-panic attack, and you think of watching in horror from somewhere outside of your body as you reached for that bedpost with your bloodied hands and then-

"Liv? Let me show you something. See?" He picks up your gun, still holding it out of your reach. "It's okay. The safety's still on."

the safety's still on

You push yourself away from him with a tiny gasp until you're huddled against the arm of the couch, eyes squeezed shut and crying out softly with every breath.

the safety's still on

You're not in your apartment any more, you're handcuffed to the bed in the beach house and you can't move, can't do anything but tug helplessly at your restraints, clank-clank-clank against the headboard and «am I still not enough for you anymore?» and oh god it hurts, you hurt so bad before but this is too much, over and over and you're not going to survive this and-

the safety's still on

He's got that animalistic grin and you think he's saying something that you can't hear over your screams, and you know you're making it worse for yourself because this is what he gets off on, watching you break. His pants are still unzipped and you can see just how much he's loving this and oh god he's gonna make you do it again, make you- «did I say you could close your eyes? Look at me, you fucking whore» and the fingers on his free hand are jabbing at you alongside the cold metal and you can't, you can't take any more, you're going to pass out or bleed out if you're lucky, if he doesn't pull the trigger-

the safety's still on

And then you can see it, can visualize him picking up the gun from where he had tossed it on the bed and oh god. The safety was still on. And you're still screaming, you think, but through the window you can see the silhouette of a bird in a tree against the pink and orange hues of the setting sun, and the safety's on, the safety's still on, and you repeat it like a silent mantra because it's all you have to cling to right now, the safety's still on, the bird's flown away and you feel yourself going numb, you feel so light, like maybe you can fly away too and what is that sound, that screaming, it won't stop-

the safety's still on

"Liv. Hey. Open your eyes, it's okay," Brian says in the voice of a man who's been through this a time or two. "Listen to me, you're at home. Everything's alright."

You look over at him and then shake your head again, lifting your hand to shield your eyes because as long as you can see it he's still there, still shattering you into a million pieces and no. No. He's not coming back any more tonight. "Take it away. I don't wanna look at it."

"At what?"

"The gun, Brian!"

"Got it, got it," he says, hurrying off to lock it up in the bedroom. When he returns empty-handed and sees that you're still curled up in the fetal position, he frowns before detouring into the kitchen. "How 'bout I get you a drink and maybe it'll relax you a little?"

Had you not still felt like your lungs were caving in, you would've made a smartass remark about how this must be a really special occasion if he's pushing liquor on you. As it is, you settle for throwing back the contents of the glass in one gulp and handing it back to him. "Another."

He opens his mouth and rubs the back of his neck like he knows whatever he wants to say won't be well received. "I...yeah. Comin' right up."

You hug your knees to your chest and wait for the whiskey to kick in.

{and the vision that was planted
in my brain still remains
within the sound of silence}

Midnight.

You watch the green digits on the microwave turn over to 12:00, meaning it's officially the 27th. Meaning it's officially been a week since you've seen Elliot and four days since you've last spoken to him. Was that really all? Has it only been seven days since...

You've moved to the couch because the bedroom seems too dark, too claustrophobic after all the time you've spent there recently. It's the scene of the crime, the home of all your nightmares and most of your bad decisions and you can't stop seeing Elliot there next to you every time you close your eyes.

Not that it's any different out here. You see traces of his presence lingering everywhere, just as clearly as you saw the black residue of fingerprint powder that marred a place you used to call home. You see him right here on this couch, see the two of you drinking and kissing and fighting and fucking and goddamnit, you have no right to miss him this much. You lost that the minute you pushed him out the door.

And yet you still do, you miss him and you wonder what he's doing, what he's 'thinking' in your absence. You pored over Maureen's Facebook page, where she had posted a few dozen pictures of Christmas ala Stabler. She's noticeably pregnant now and looks like she couldn't be happier, like she's the only one who's more excited about this baby than Elliot himself. They all looked happy, happy and normal, and you don't know why you ever tried to kid yourself into thinking that there could someday be a place for you in all that. You hate that you had allowed yourself to fantasize a time or two about what it would be like, being a part of the family. By now you've mostly given up on the hope of ever having children of your own. It just doesn't seem to be in the cards for you, but maybe you could've been a good stepmom. You had imagined the two of you having Eli over on weekends, playing games and going to the park and spoiling him rotten. Maybe Maureen would be brave enough to leave Benjamin with his grandpa every now and then so you could get your fix of having a baby around to cuddle.

But now all that sounds so embarrassingly stupid, and you can't believe that you let yourself think for even a second that it could become reality. He didn't want you like that. You were never wife and mother material to him- in fact, he never missed a chance to point out that you were neither of those things. I'm the longest relationship you've ever had with a man. You're not a parent, you wouldn't understand.

"Liv?" Brian's standing behind you, yawning and making that cracking noise with his shoulder joint that gives you the creeps. "What happened?"

"Nothing. Just couldn't sleep in there," you say, swallowing what feels like a softball stuck in your throat.

"Any better out here?" You shake your head and sit up. "Want me to...?"

"Yeah."

He gets settled and you lie back down on top of him, hugging your pillow to your chest as you both stare up at the ceiling. "This whole thing about tomorrow...you don't have to be there, y'know. You can change your mind and no one's gonna think any less of you."

"I'm not changing my mind. If he's going to be in that courtroom, so am I, that's what I promised myself. It's what Mom would've wanted me to do."

"You think?"

"Mmhmm. She would've wanted me to show him that I'm not intimidated."

"But she'd want you to take care of yourself first."

"You really didn't know my mother, did you? It was all about appearances with her..." You turn your head so it's nestled in between the crook of his arm and the back of the couch, pillow still tucked underneath your chin. "I wish the two of you could've met."

"I remember seeing her once or twice but we were never, like, formally introduced."

"Yeah, I kinda tried to steer her away from you and Munch...what? I was scared of what might come out of your mouth!"

"What d'ya think I'd say, 'nice to meet you, ma'am, your daughter has a phenomenal ass'?"

"Yes?" He pokes you in the side in retaliation and when you laugh, it's a sound that rings out across the room in all its unfamiliarity. "You would have."

"Eh, probably."

"I thought a lot about what you said a while back, you know. About my mom."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. About how...you were right, I really don't know what things would be like, what she would be like if she was still living. It's up to me to fill in that blank, if that makes sense...so I guess I've got nothing to lose by telling myself that we would've. That she would've been here for me when I needed her." And you do need her right now, more than you would have thought possible while she was alive. Never before had the lack of a female presence in your life ever been so apparent. You were used to being one of the boys, and in some ways had grown to prefer it, but it still didn't make up for not having even one good girlfriend that you could confide in at a time like this. "It's hard to...my first instinct is to imagine her being, well. Difficult. But when I can get past that...it helps. Thinking that she would've been supportive. How pathetic is that? I'm 45 years old, making up this imaginary mom to help me feel better."

"It's not pathetic, I promise. I've had moments since my dad died where...I just feel this presence, right, not like something you can see or hear, but I know he's there. And it feels like...like everything's gonna be okay, you know?"

You can't really say you've felt the same about your mom. You've felt her absence, most definitely, but the only presence you've felt has seemed to come in the form of doubts and guilt and that little voice in your head that says you're never quite good enough. But you understand what he means, you think, because it's how you felt when you laid down on the floor of that beach house and closed your eyes and all you saw was Elliot. You saw the two of you talking and laughing and even as you thought you were dying, it was a promise of better things to come- that whatever was about to happen, it wasn't something to be feared. "Yeah, I...yeah. I know."

"You okay?" he asks, brushing away the teardrops collecting on your cheek, but you don't reply. Instead you just lie there listening to the sound of his breath, shutting out everything (everyone) else for what seems like hours, days, eternities, until your eyes flutter shut. "Think you can sleep?"

"Maybe."

"Should we go back to bed?" When you shake your head, he doesn't argue. "Okay. We'll just stay here."

You had an hour of peace before the nightmares came back again.

{my eyes were stabbed
by the flash of a neon light
that split the night
and touched the sound of silence}

Brian's waiting out in the hall when you leave the courtroom after the hearing.

"I told you, you didn't have to be here," you remind him softly, even as you're badly shaken and glad he didn't listen to you. He raises his arm up like he's going to try to hug you but you move away, gesturing for him to sit down on the bench next to you and reaching for his hand. You have to keep some distance or you're going to crumble, and you can't do that just yet. Not when you don't know who might be watching.

«hi sweetheart. miss me?»

Your eyes had gone straight for one another's when he walked into the courtroom, like the most macabre of soulmates. You suppose he had been awaiting the opportunity just as much as you had.

«I like the hair.»

He touched the back of his head with his good hand, the one that wasn't still poking out of a sling after his run in with Elliot, to illustrate as he mouthed the words at you.

You were the first to look away. He's already winning.

"Liv. Hey," Brian says, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb.

"Hmm? I'm fine." You pick at an imaginary loose thread on your sleeve. "Everything's fine. Jury selection starts Monday."

«you look so good right now, sweetheart. think your boyfriend would approve?» You're looking at yourself in the mirror that hung on the wall in your old bedroom and he's pressed up behind you, arm around your neck just to remind you not to try anything stupid. «nah, he wouldn't be able to stand it.» You're gritting your teeth, preparing for the worst, and you jerk back in surprise when his hand covers your breast. «where the fuck do you think you're going?» The crook of his elbow presses against your throat in warning, and he's kissing the nape of your neck hotly as your nipple hardens underneath his fingertips. «no. I want you to watch. close your eyes again and I'll turn the stove back on» and you whimper in dread as his hand dips lower-

"You ready to go home, babe?" you distantly hear Brian's voice asking, and you nod but when you go to stand up, your legs won't move...

«God, you're so sweet, aren't you? Your boyfriend's a lucky guy» and you can hardly see yourself in the mirror through your teary eyes, but what you can see is still too much, «I told you, I'm so good at figuring out what my girls like. better than him, at least...jesus christ, does he never get you off? is that why you're such a slut for it?», and he's got his leg wedged in between yours so there's no getting away, so that you can see exactly what's going on, where he's touching you, and you can't feel a thing but part of you must because «look at you, look how much you want it. see that? you'll never forget. every time you look in the mirror, that's what you'll see. what he'll see, what everyone else'll see once they find out», and his fingers start moving with purpose now, going in for the kill and there's nothing you can do to stop yourself from-

"Liv. Talk to me. Can you hear me?" Brian asks gently, and it feels like an electric shock running through you when you pull your hand away from his grasp.

"Don't fucking touch me," you hiss, never mind that you had been the one to reach out for him to begin with. "I need to...I'll be right back."

You were mentally calculating how many steps it would take you to reach the bathroom when you're interrupted by a familiar voice. "Olivia, good, you're still here."

"What now?" Brian groans.

"Cassidy, always a pleasure," Barba says, not bothering to answer his question. "Can I speak to you for a moment, Olivia? There's something we need to discuss."

{silence like a cancer grows…
but my words like silent raindrops fell
and echoed in the wells of silence}